Page:The Works of J. W. von Goethe, Volume 9.djvu/143

Rh THE BEAUTEOUS FLOWER.

a flower of beauty rare, Ah, how I hold it dear! To seek it I would fain repair, Were I not prisoned here. My sorrow sore oppresses me, For when I was at liberty, I had it close beside me.

Though from this castle's walls so steep I cast mine eyes around, And gaze oft from the lofty keep, The flower cannot be found. Whoe'er would bring it to my sight, Whether a vassal he, or knight, My dearest friend I'd deem him.

I blossarn fair,—thy tale of woes I hear from 'neath thy grate. Thou doubtless meanest me, the rose, Poor knight of high estate! Thou hast in truth a lofty mind; The queen of flowers then is enshrined, I doubt not, in thy bosom.

Thy red, in dress of green arrayed, As worth all praise I hold;